


Countdown

by Roxicodone



Series: Unfinished Business: Cloti Sessions [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:56:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roxicodone/pseuds/Roxicodone
Summary: AU, Soulmate Watch Countdown.





	Countdown

**Author's Note:**

> Saw this prompt who knows where and couldn't get it out of my head. I literally had to tell my SO to leave me the hell alone so I could write enough that this story wasn't plaguing me all day and night. This one still pokes me to finish it, though it won't be too long, and I do have more than this written, but being quite satisfied with this beginning, I thought I'd share it.

0000 **D** 00 **H** 00 **M** 00 **S**

The fact that his timer was no longer counting down was supposed to be a good thing, right? Cloud had heard enough stories and seen enough movies and internet memes and Reddit threads to understand that it was supposed to be something positive that his watch was no longer counting down. It meant that he’d found his soulmate, his other half, the person he was destined to love before and after time began and ended and it was a _good thing_ \--especially because that soulmate was Tifa Lockhart.

Lifting his eyes, he searched the crowded barroom until he found her, and when he did, his eyes locked and couldn’t-- _wouldn’t_ \--look away.

She was beautiful, and not only because he loved her, but simply because she _was_. It wasn’t just the long, dark hair that fell so sleekly past her hips, or just those glinting russet and carmine eyes with its heavy lashes. It wasn’t just the natural rouge of her cheeks and delicate mouth, or the heart-shaped face, or the voluptuous curves of her that often had him clenched hard in admiration and want.

It was also her boundless cheerfulness and optimism, the inherent kindness and patience she offered every person she came across, whether it was Johnny—who Cloud always wanted to punch in the throat—when he stopped in to confess his love for her, or Hank, the grouchy neighbor always calling her wretched names for her job at 7th Heaven but whom she always made sure to check on if only to ensure he was properly fed and, if not, she’d wrap up her own meals for and go hungry. It was the encouragement she gave to all her friends, including the bar owner’s seven year old daughter, Marlene, or the Wutainian Yuffie who was a closet klepto and always running around causing mischief.

It was the way those rosy lips smiled at him, as they did now, catching his watchful gaze as she skirted grabbing hands, cleared empty bottles, and saved tipping glasses. It was the glint in carmine eyes that shared with him a private, laughing glance as she sauntered over and pushed the bangs from his eyes. It was the “Here ya go, Cloud” she said in that smoky, sultry voice as she slid another generous pour of whiskey onto the table even though he hadn’t ordered another but simply because she was thoughtful and attentive and had noticed his diminishing glass before she’d made her rounds. He opened his mouth to give his thanks but she was off again, heading back behind the bar with that light step and artless sway of sexy hips.

It was all of it, every atom of her, wrapped up in a gorgeous exterior that made her so damn beautiful.

Yes, it was a good thing that his timer read all zeros and he’d found his soulmate in Tifa Lockhart.

It was just his bad fucking luck that the same wasn’t true for Tifa.

At the jarring reminder, the sharp pain poking his heart gave him the the prod he needed to finally to look away, and he distracted himself with the amber liquid in his half empty glass. Mouth twisting in a self-mocking smile, he lifted the glass to his lips and threw back the contents with a flick, relishing the burn as it made its way down his throat. Setting the empty glass back down with a hard _thunk_ , he grabbed the new glass Tifa had brought and stared unseeingly into the bottom, swirling the smooth liquid.

How long had it been since he’d realized that he was hers and that she—well, and that she wasn’t his in return? How long had he been living with that raw ache in his heart, often leaving him feeling bereft and hopeless and filled with self-loathing? He was her friend, one of her _best_ friends, and he craved to be so much more…

It was useless, of course, because he was an idiot and a coward and, in the seventeen years that he’d known Tifa, he’d never gathered up the courage to do more than joke about the fact that she was his soulmate—nevermind the fact that he was completely and utterly in love with her.

Seventeen years. Had it really been so long since he’d first laid eyes on her? Hell, he was twenty-four now, and had been all of seven years old when he’d first laid eyes on Tifa Lockhart.

The memory of it was wonky, and all he could really recall was looking across the school yard—and directly into a pair of shining, carmine eyes. Cliched as it was, he could still recall the feeling of everything around him going soft and blurry and quiet while he’d been caught just staring staring _staring_. At the time, she’d seemed as caught as he had, returning his gaze unblinkingly while his heart had sped up to a million times its regular beat and people and time and everything had swirled around them.

Then someone had shoved him none too gently for standing frozen amongst the steps leading up to the school building, disrupting his gaze and diverting his attention, and someone else had given him another shove for bumping into them after being shoved the first time, and then he’d been in the midst of yet another of the too many fights he always got into at school—Kami, but how he’d always hated those other students—and the pretty girl with the welcoming eyes had disappeared.

He’d searched for her endlessly for days and weeks and months afterward, hoping just for another glimpse of her, but had come up empty handed. It wasn’t until he and Mama had moved during the middle of the school year that he’d found her again—and not at school, though they did continue to attend the same schools up through university graduation, but right next door to his new home instead.

And somehow, someway, though it’d taken a long time, they’d become friends. By their tenth year, they’d become nearly inseparable.

It had been an awkward sort of friendship at its start, with Tifa one of the popular girls and he, a known troublemaker and outcast. Still, their polite hellos and goodbyes— _hers_ had been polite, his had been awkward and clumsy for he’d always been caught in the way her smiles and those shimmering eyes somehow always _welcomed_ him—had somehow morphed into walking to school together, then home together, then studying together, then laughing and talking and throwing stones across the space that separated their bedroom windows when the other couldn’t sleep—usually Tifa because he’d always been able to sleep at the drop of a hat—and now, as tentative adults, it was a bond that he was both terrified of disrupting and yearning desperately to push for more.


End file.
